


Sharing; An Acquired Skill

by ryoku



Series: Switch; To Change Circumstances [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Age Swap AU, Gen, Semi-Dysfunctional Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-28 02:55:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12596552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryoku/pseuds/ryoku
Summary: Jason Wayne, philanthropist, eccentric, and adopted son of famous playboy Bruce Wayne, has got it made. Between his role as Robin, his charity work, and provisional head of development in Wayne Tech's R&D Division, he's doing pretty well for himself. That is until he has a routine trip back to Gotham from his work with the Teen Titans, to find that he is no longer the only son of Wayne.





	Sharing; An Acquired Skill

**Author's Note:**

> This was suppose to be for the JayDick week, but I write slow these days. I like to think that means the quality has gone up, but who knows. This might end up as a series, but who knows. Ideas are fickle things. Thank you to PoisnousPixie, for reading over this, and assuring me that it was not boring, Volavi for having the original idea that spawned this and for reading over it for quality control, and Momo, who I forced to take a look at it, but who was still nice about it~

The alarm went off early, and since he was back in Gotham, Jason's first thought was how Bruce was probably still awake at this hour. His second thought was something like _Shit, fuck, Gotham in the winter!_ which he was immediately ashamed of. Stupid hometown loyalties and stupid west coast weather making him soft and stupid him for thinking keeping the heater off was a good way of saving money. He reached up, from under his comforter, and reached blindly for his alarm. 

It took him a few moments to find it, and then a few more to wack it into submission. It took him maybe five more minutes to actually amble out of bed (Because fuck, this mattress!) and into a warm shower. 

By that time he'd already missed a call from Alfred, so he went ahead and called back, clipping his ear piece on while he shucked on a pair of clean boxers, and cinched his robe more tightly.

He was already in the kitchen when Alfred answered on the fourth ring, and Jason stifled a yawn the second he did. “Mornin' Alf.” 

“A good morning to you, Master Jason. I trust you slept well?” Alfred always sounded impeccable in the morning. It put both he and Bruce to shame every time.

“Ugh, yes. Can't beat a Wayne mattress.” Jason went to get a cup of coffee, only to see that someone had replaced his normal coffee maker with a fancier one. The type that made individual cups, and were obnoxiously expensive, with fancy flavors and shit. He humphed, but started the machine anyway, eyeing the small assortment of flavored fru-fru coffees at his disposal. “The old man in bed yet?” 

“Indeed he is, retired several hours ago. A rather early night if I do say so myself.” Alfred sounded pleased about that, though it was hard to tell for sure over the phone. Alfred's brand of sarcasm was always best served in person. 

“That's good.” Jason said, grabbing a banana off the counter. “Thanks for stalking this place Alf. Mind if I ask where you stashed the old coffee maker?”

“Certainly,” Alfred said, ignoring that last question all together. “Dinner will be served promptly at 5:30. I will expect you at the manor well before that.” 

Jason nodded more as a reminder to himself than as an answer to Alfred, and finished chewing a bite of the banana before answering. “Should be plenty of time. Doing the photo shoot this morning, and then a Wayne Tech meeting after. Might catch a ride back with Bruce.” Not that Alfred didn't already know his schedule. Alfred probably knew before Jason did. He was just that good. Bruce would never have survived without him.

“I'm sure nothing would give him more pleasure.” Sometimes Alfred said things like that, things that Jason wasn't completely sure were true, but that made him smile anyway. He shook it off.

“Is everything set for the gala on your end?” Because when he'd mentioned it, Alfred had simply accepted and taken charge. Jason had sort of wanted to make it his own, and had given a general outline of what he wanted, but Alfred always headed Wayne galas. “Bruce is going to be there, right?” 

“He wouldn't miss it, Master Jason. We both understand how important it is to you.” Jason didn't huff, or make any obvious sound of general discontent, but he did grimace just a tad. Alfred couldn't see him from here. He hoped. Things being important hadn't stopped Bruce from skipping out on other familial obligations in the past, but Jason hoped this one would be different. “Pardon my interest, but how long are you planning to stay in Gotham, Master Jason?” 

“Couple days, not too long.” It was nice to be back, even in winter, but Christmas wasn't too far off, and he had a feeling there would be a few plots he'd need to prematurely disassemble so that everyone who wanted to could go home and enjoy a nice Christmas.

There was a pause, and for Alfred, that was always something to worry about. “Might there be any chance of an extension, Master Jason?” 

Jason gave something of a helpless sound. It was hard to outright say no to Alfred. “Harper's in charge while I'm gone, and if I leave him alone for too long, he'll start blowing stuff up.” Which was true, Harper was hardly someone who could be trusted to lay low or handle situations without things literally exploding. “I should be able to patrol with the old man a few nights.” He offered instead, the words settling warmly in his chest. Being with Bruce again was going to be nice. Working as the leader for the Teen Titans was exhausting, rewarding, but exhausting. He liked it, but there was nothing like fighting alongside Batman, watching him work. Being a part of that process was one of the best parts of his life. That's what Robin had always been meant to do, so it just felt right. 

“I understand. Still, humor an old man, and make sure that your plans are not set in stone. You might want to stay longer.” There was something there, some card that Alfred was keeping hidden. 

“Does this have something to do with that surprise?” 

There was almost a laugh in Alfred's voice when he responded. “Most certainly.” 

Jason tossed the banana peal into the trashcan, and put some bread into the toaster. “That sounds ominous. Should I be concerned?” He meant it as a joke, and it probably sounded that way, but Alfred had always been able to see right through his bullshit. 

“Not at all Master Jason. You shouldn't worry at all.” 

 

-

 

For a day in Gotham, things had gone very smoothly. The charity shoot had gone well, though the stylist had gawked at him when he showed up in a fitted three piece suit. She'd promptly shoved him into a changing room and told him to put on something more casual. She'd then thrusting a brown leather jacket on him, mussed up his hair and called it good. 

He'd thought the suit might have made a nice touch, even if he loathed them, but it was sort of a relief to be in things he was much more familiar with. They'd done the recordings for both TV and radio, and several stills for the ad campaign, before sending him on his way early. It still made him uncomfortable to be the physical face of his charity work, but in Gotham his story was well known, and if he could use that stupid celebrity status for something, The Children of Gotham charity was the absolute best he could do. He'd done a lot over the years to try and give back to the streets, to work from both top down, and bottom up in a variety of ways, and this was a project he desperately wanted to work. There wasn't a lot he wouldn't do for it.

Wayne Tech had been a quick bike ride from there, and he'd shown up at the office early enough to look at some of the development stages of the prototypes he'd been sending in for weeks. Down time with the Titans allowed him a level of creativity that the department had been happy to exploit. Lucius was happy to see him again, and showed him the latest gadgets that they'd been working on, both of his own design, and that of others within the department. 

He'd missed this, coming in every day and tinkering away at things. He got to do it now with Roy, who was a fucking brilliant moron of epic proportions, but there was something homey about Wayne Tech's labs. It was stupid to think of it like that, with it's sterile white tiles and lab coats, but that's what it was. Wayne Tech was a safe zone of sorts, where his crazy ideas weren't crazy. There had been so much time spent drawing out designs, and seeing them come to life in the labs. Sure, making things with Roy was fun, and typically included about 60% more explosions, but this was home, his own little lab full of brilliant technicians he'd hand picked himself. It was special.

After that was a shareholder meeting, which dragged on forever, but was one of those necessary evils to the business. Even still, he was a Wayne, and it was useful to fall back on all of the nonsense the name seemed to entail. Compared with Bruce, the board was happy that Jason tended to keep his appointments, even if they happened significantly less now that he wasn't properly living in Gotham. He was still technically Lucius' assistant, cause he was far to young to head the branch on paper, but there was a decent bit of understanding that even if he didn't technically have the reins now, he would in the future. 

All in all, it had gone really well. He'd planned the whole trip with something of a strict schedule, and was pleased at just how easily everything had gone off. So when he arrived at the manor just before 5, on his own bike instead of with Bruce, he almost expected something to rain on his parade. It was Bruce, and he had instilled a habit of being suspicious when things went well. Of course, Jason had that sort of instinct to begin with, and if he let Bruce, they sort of fed off of each other. It wasn't a particularly good thing. Bruce was something of a downer at times. 

He did not expect a scrawny little kid to literally cartwheel, then flip himself down the stairs just as Jason opened the front door. It almost felt like walking into an alternate dimension.

Alfred was completely wrong. He had every reason to worry. 

 

-

 

The kid was small, couldn't have been older than 9, and was bendy. Very bendy, as he so aptly displayed when he stopped his tumbling decent from half way down the stairs. Blue eyes settled on Jason in a flash, with something like excitement swimming in their depths. He also noted thick, inky black hair with something that resembled anxiety. Then the kid was vaulting off the stairs like a monkey, with a few flourishes and flips for effect. If he was aiming to impress, it was working, but that didn't show on Jason's face. He was probably too shell shocked. 

Once the kid was down on the ground, he waltzed over to Jason with the confidence of someone much older. The kid extended his hand, smile wide and blinding. “You're Mr. Jason Wayne. It's nice to meet you, I'm Richard Grayson. Call me Dick.” The accent wasn't American, European if Jason had to guess, but it sounded like a lot of things all rolled into one. It probably would have been a nightmare to replicate. 

Jason, having the current emotional fortitude of a snail, gave a low, “Yeah,” and extended his hand, which the kid took. Surprisingly strong grip. 

“Don't worry,” Dick said, cocking his head to the side and slipping his hand out of Jason's. “Mr. Wayne isn't adopting me. I'm just staying here for a while.” 

“Right,” the word came out of his mouth even and slow. 

The kid seemed to accept the answer. “How long are you staying at the manor?” 

Jason swallowed, and said nothing. 

“Master Dick, do hurry along to wash your hands before dinner.” Jason froze. He hadn't even heard Alfred walk into the room. The word 'Master' in reference to anyone but him, and Bruce, echoed in his ears. 

“Sure Mr. Alfred.” Dick said, looking at the older butler, before turning back to Jason. “I'll see you at dinner, Mr. Wayne.” And then he was gone, bounding away to one of the many bathrooms in the manor. 

Jason looked at Afred, his mouth open, and struggling for words that would not come. What he managed to get out was, “What was that?” 

The look on Alfred's face was withering at best, but he came over and took Jason's jacket without another word. “You've caught him on one of his better days, Master Jason. He's been beside himself all afternoon anticipating your arrival.” 

“Alfred.” 

“He's a rather charming young man.” 

“Alfred!” This time it was a hiss, low and rippling so that perhaps it wouldn't be heard. 

“It must have slipped my mind to request your presence well in advance of dinner, where a proper conversation would have been forthcoming, but I'm afraid that dinner will be served in just under 6 minutes, and that's hardly much time at all for me to finish preparations.” And then, as if that wasn't entirely uncalled for, Alfred started to leave the room all together. He was almost gone, Jason still gaping and scandalized, when Alfred turned, and gave him, the look. “Mind your manners. It might not show, but the last month has been positively dreadful for him.” With that rather sobering comment, Jason snapped his still gaping mouth shut, and Alfred disappeared into the manor's halls.

He had about a minute to try and process everything. It was so weird, toss him a doomsday situation, or 7 children to rescue from a tank of flesh eating bacteria, or even a bomb to diffuse, and Jason was on that in nothing flat. The bat instincts kicked in, and action saved lives. But Jason Wayne, facing down a plucky, impressionable young kid in his father's house, had no idea what to do. That one minute was not long enough, and Jason was still coming up blank when the kid walked out of the bathroom. 

Dick was like a homing missile, and zeroed right in on him. Jason scratched the back of his neck, and offered something of a crooked smile. The smile he received in response was blinding. “So, Dick? That's kinda-” The kids face dropped just an inch, and Jason abruptly about faced. “-unique, these days. Not many kids called Dick anymore.” _Nice save Todd_ , he thought sarcastically. 

“I like it, Mr. Wayne.” 

“That's good,” which felt like such a lame thing to say, kid probably had heard every bad joke in the book by now about his name. Way to pick a winning start. “Uh, you can call me Jason. Sounds like you're talking to Bruce when you call me Mr. Wayne.” 

“Okay, Mr. Jason.” Dick said. 

“Just- Just Jason, kid. Mr. Jason sounds...weird.” 

“Alright, Jason.” Dick said.

“Okay,” Jason said, and shifted on his feet again. “That was, uh, that was some pretty impressive flips you were doing there.” What was he saying, they were fucking gorgeous. The best form Jason had ever seen, and he'd seen, and done, quite a bit of acrobatics as Robin. Even the way he walked into a room was light, magnetic and energy in a way that a kid that age should not be able to do. Dick just lit up at the comment too. Jason had thought he'd been bright before, but he realized now that it had been a lie, an absolute falsehood that he'd fallen for hook line and sinker, cause the way this kid looked now was in no way comparable. No one smiled like this kid could. 

“I can do a lot more! Ya wanna see?” 

And when Jason said “Yeah,” he absolutely meant it. 

 

-

 

Alfred's warning resounded in Jason's ears, so even though he wanted to track down Bruce and shake him, Jason resisted the urge. 

“What school do you go to, Dick?” Cause that should've been a neutral topic. It hadn't been for him at that age, but Dick didn't look like a street kid. He could have been, there were quite a few signs, dark rings under his eyes, how scrawny and little he was, but every mannerism Dick had played against that idea. That being said, Jason knew he'd been completely fooled that first time when Dick had smiled, and he didn't want to go making similar mistakes. He hoped the question wasn't a mistake. 

They were at the table, and Bruce hadn't shown up yet, so the burden of 'family dinner conversation' fell to Jason. He imagined if he let the silence linger long enough, Dick would have said something, but that didn't seem fair. Alfred's voice echoed in his mind, repeating “dreadful” over and over. The last thing he wanted was to make the poor kid uncomfortable.

Dick shrugged his shoulders, one a little higher than the other, so it looked a little like a wave when he did it. “I haven't been in Gotham for long.” 

Jason steered away from the obvious question of where he was from. That was probably another sore subject, likely just as fraught with issues as the 'why are you here' question that was plaguing him. Sadly, that left him with an abrupt end to the conversation. He'd never been good at this stuff. 

Dick saved him the trouble. “Mr. Alfred said you're throwing a party tomorrow. Can I go?” 

Jason almost lost what he was drinking, the cup slipping right out of his hand, but he saved it at the last second, catching it with his other hand, and did it without even spilling anything. Dick, bless him, looked very impressed at the display. Jason laughed, but in that awkward 'that is not what I want to talk with you about, kid' laugh, and then Dick's face was not as happy as it had been, and he didn't know what to do. 

“A gala. They're, well, technically it is a party, but it's a party for stuck up old people who don't know any good jokes, and like to talk about themselves and other people.” Which was accurate, but also a simpler version of it too. The thought of having one himself still made his skin crawl. If Bruce wasn't there, they might just eat him alive, and he'd walk away from it feeling like the lousy street trash he was, begging for money on some street corner. He hated asking for anything, and even though Bruce didn't seem to think this counted, it did.

Dick scrunched up his face. “Sounds boring unless everyone is drinking.” 

At which Jason sputtered, and set down his drink. Cause almost losing it once per night was enough. “Yeah, it is.” 

Dick cocked his head to the side. “So why are you having a petty old people party? You're not old.” 

Jason could get used to this kid. “Because I want them to give me money.” 

Dick just blinked at him. “You spend money on a party, so the old people will give you money? Can't you just throw a fun party for Mr. Wayne so that I can come? Doesn't he have all the money you'd need?” 

Jason shoved something from his plate into his mouth, so that he wouldn't laugh. He had to concentrate on chewing it. Dick waited patiently for a response, twirling his knife over his fingers like it was a pencil. Jason was just about to tell him to stop playing with knives, when Bruce walked in the room. 

Thankfully, the knife was down on the table in a second, and Dick was out of his chair. With only a few bounds he was in front of Bruce, and Jason openly gaped as this kid just wrapped his arms around Bruce 'Batman' Wayne in what looked like a crushing hug. 

Alfred had been so wrong, he had every reason to worry. If this little hellion could charm him, Alfred, AND Bruce, there was no way he was going anywhere, no matter what the kid had said. It had taken him almost a year to get the guts to just outright hug Bruce, and even now it wasn't something they just did. 

And Bruce. Bruce had this soft little look on his face, and yeah, he looked uncomfortable, but he put a solid hand on Dick's back. Something in Jason's chest tightened, like a string right before it snapped. Without another word, he stood up, and left the dinning room. 

 

-

 

Jason had quit smoking years ago. It had been a point of contention when he first moved in with Bruce. No smoking, and by god he'd tried. It'd taken time, and it had been hard, but he'd stopped. Still, there were times, when he still wanted one, when he could feel the twitching spaces in his fingers and longed for the little thrill that the nicotine gave him. 

When Bruce found him out on one of the large balconies, without his jacket on, in a Gotham winter, Jason wanted a cigarette. It was not a sign that boded well for either of them. 

Bruce, with something that looked like tact, just stood beside him as Jason leaned over the balcony's stone railing, and waited. Jason wanted to go off, wanted to scream and yell and kick, but he was dedicated to not being the first one to talk. Determined that his anger and resentments were petty and beneath a Wayne, that he had to just keep it in check. When Bruce did talk, what came out of his mouth was an inconsequential, “Dinner's getting cold.” As if that was any way of dealing with this. 

Jason looked over at him, his lips curled around teeth and eyebrows a mass of angles, and then looked back out at the dead remnants of the Wayne gardens that Alfred so loved. 

“Did you pick this one up off the streets?” The second it was out of his mouth, Jason felt small, and mean. What kind of a person talked about a kid that way? He refused to look at Bruce, cause that would have given it away. 

There was a long stretch of silence, which was probably all the confirmation that Jason needed, but he waited anyway. “In a manner of speaking.” 

Jason hung his head at the answer, and swayed just a bit from side to side. He looked over at Bruce and gave him a smile that was not meant to be pleasant. “Missed me that much? Most parents would just call, not bring home a new kid.” 

“Jason,” and there went the bat voice, “this isn't about you.” 

Well two could play the holier than thou game. “Na, this is about you.” And he made it high, chirpy and taunting in the way that Robin used to do, back when Robin was a caricature, a drawing of himself with exaggerated features. Before he'd grown up.

“He is a child that needs help.” It was Bruce again, his tone more imploring than Batman's could ever be, because no one knew Bruce like him, except maybe Alfred. Gotham knew Batman, and Gotham knew Brucie, but Bruce was his, his dad.

“You're the only child here that needs help Bruce.” Jason said, his voice low, almost whispered into the cold night air, down to the gardens below. He looked up then, saw the sturdy chin and the softness that Bruce tried so desperately to hide from others. He felt bad, thought twice about what he was going to say next, but didn't stop. “What makes you think you have time to raise a kid now? I hardly ever saw you until I started going out as Robin.” 

That made Bruce harden, fossilize into something Jason could easily recognize. He never knew what to do with a Bruce who was teetering on some edge, but he could deal with the stone and steel that made Batman. “Dick watched his parents murdered.” Batman was back, and the statement shut off any tirade Jason could have come up with. “He's been alone for weeks, sneaking out of a juvenile center to try and track down the murderer. Batman told him to stop, but he was always out again the very next night. At least this way he's 15 miles outside of Gotham.” 

Jason didn't know what to say to that, so he said something mean instead. “He needs parents Bruce. Real parents.” 

“He doesn't want new parents.” And the statement was so like something Jason could imagine a young Bruce saying, after months and years of mourning and knowing something needed to be done. He wondered if someone had stepped into that kids life, and tried to be a parent, if it would have made a difference. He'd always wondered.

“It's not about what he wants, it's about what he needs. He needs people that are going to look after him, hug him when he gets home from school. People that are going to play stupid board games with him and take him out on weekends.” Cause he knew enough now, that parents were suppose to do these things. That Bruce, for all of his failings, had tried to bridge those gaps. It had been enough for Jason, who had so little to build upon. It never would have worked for a kid like Bruce, who'd had loving parents that cherished him. “We're not those people Bruce. I've got obligations half way across the country, and your busy saving Gotham from eating herself.” 

Bruce was silent, his eyes downcast, and Jason choked down an apology. Someone had to say these things. When Bruce did speak, it was soft, but stronger than any of the protests Jason could make. “You didn't see him the night his parents died. You can't know what he needs.” 

The statement hurt more than Jason was willing to admit. He kept his eyes on the garden, tracing paths that he used to take on lonely summer days, when Bruce had been gone and Alfred was busy with the house chores. Found all his little hideaways, where the roses smelled freshest, and the sun could still find him and brighten the pages of whatever book he'd carried with him. “If you're going to make that decision for him, you've got to be damn sure.” 

Bruce tentatively put a hand on his shoulder, and Jason did actually turn to look at him then. When had he gotten so close? “Spend some time with him, Jay. He's, persuasive.” 

Jason cocked an eyebrow, but allowed Bruce to turn and head inside first. “I figured that out already.” Jason shot over his shoulder, but Bruce was already back inside, the door to the balcony left open for him. Jason looked down at the garden once more, before turning to head back inside. 

Jason felt foolish, childish and a variety of other colorful adjectives. Literally running away because a small child hugged his father, what a stupid thing to do. He felt worse about it when he realized said kid was gone. His plate was still out, waiting for him, and Bruce was looking at the table with an expression Jason could only say was concern, but Dick was gone. 

The two of them looked at each other for a moment, Bruce less than pleased with him, and Jason was a little ashamed, but was firmly determined not to show it. When Alfred cleared his throat, Jason caved first in their glare off, and looked over at him. 

“I do believe Master Dick has excused himself to the training area.” Jason gaped at Alfred, and angled an even stronger glare over at Bruce. Why the hell was the kid in the damn batcave? He shouldn't even know it existed. As if reading his mind, Alfred added a belated, “the above ground training area, Master Jason. Our young guest has not yet been informed of our other facilities, though with his curiosity I imagine it's only a matter of time.” 

With a pointed look at Bruce and then Jason in turn, Alfred slipped out of the room. 

 

-

 

The above ground training area had changed since he'd last been in it. There was a pommel horse, gymnastic rings hanging from the ceiling, ropes that looked suspiciously like rigging, and high bars, some stationary, and some on ropes. It all look new, so there was that, but no one had even told him Bruce had put in more equipment. They had all of these things underground of course, acrobatics was an important part of the vigilante game, and an excellent way to keep various parts of them toned, but it was new to have them out in the open like this, laid out as if Bruce Wayne enjoyed more than a casual exercise routine. 

As he watched Dick, scrawny little thing that he was, flip and twist and tumble from one bar to another, Jason instantly knew why. 

This kid was not going anywhere if Bruce could help it. He was just mesmerizing to watch, every twist and contour was graceful, trained and perfected motions that didn't seem to know hesitation. Dick Grayson did acrobatics like most people breathed, seamlessly and with so little effort it hardly seemed noticeable. There was just such artistry and life in those movements. And he was probably still in the single digits. Give or take 10 years, and this kid was going to be a force to be reckoned with, either as a professional athlete, or in the family business. 

There was a small, angry little voice inside of him, who wondered if this could possibly all be a coincidence, if fate had actually dropped them together, or if Bruce had found this kid years ago, and swooped in the moment things had gone wrong for him. It was a petty, angry, little thought that made him feel like the dirty street rat who got lucky, who still needed Robin to prove that he was worth anything at all. It was just impossible to watch this kid, and not be awed. 

He was such a damn fuck up. 

Who the hell else was going to feel threatened by a kid in single digits? What the hell was he so afraid of? Losing his 'Annie' position to Bruce's 'Daddy Warbucks'? It didn't even make sense, Jason had striven for financial independence as quickly as possible. He had his own apartment, had a separate bank account with all his own money, a local celebrity status that could have gotten him a job easily if Bruce cut him off one day, and a team of super heroes across the country that seemed to like him despite all of his glaring flaws. He was Robin for fuck's sake. 

But there it was, all the same, the little green monster that promised him he would never be enough. Jason looked over at Bruce, and watched until he couldn't anymore. 

 

-

 

When Dick came down off of the high bars, he looked stable, like the swinging and tumbling was something he needed to keep steady. It was a little too similar to what it looked like to land from a successful swing, that knowledge and clarity that came with motion and a successful landing.

Jason buried that thought, and walked over to Dick. He smiled, and tried his best to mean it. “You're pretty good, kid.” Dick smiled at him, brilliant, but now that Jason had seen sincere, he knew this wasn't it. Dick was looking over him too obviously. “Sorry I left, something came up.” 

Jason had a feeling Dick knew he was making excuses, just a gut instinct, but he tilted his head, as if it meant nothing. “Yeah, that happens a lot here.” Dick side eyed Bruce for a moment, and Jason remembered that he liked this kid. All of this other shit, wasn't his fault. 

He made a split second decision, thinking about the conversation he'd had with Alfred that morning. “How about I stay an extra days, and I take you out? If I know my old man, you've been cooped up in here for too long.” 

The kid brightened up at that. “What will we do?” Now Jason knew he had him. That spark of curiosity was there, bright and true. 

“How about ice skating?” A good thing to take a small child too, and relatively harmless. It was usually a safer bet than the zoo or any of the museums in Gotham. The kid was obviously an athlete too, and graceful at that so it just seemed like a natural fit. 

With the ways Dick's eyes widened, Jason knew if this went through, he'd be forgiven for his earlier transgression, but there was still a wary look about Dick. Jason could figure why. It wasn't unheard of for Bruce to make plans, and then not be able to deliver. The mission always came first, something Jason also struggling with. 

When Dick spoke, it wasn't the assured, confident child he'd seemed like up to this point. He was more hesitant, and a little shaky. This looked more like a kid that was actually struggling. Jason wondered if the other part was completely an act. If it was, this kid was scary good. “When?” 

“The gala's tomorrow,” Dick scrunched up his face at the word. “How about the day after?” As if the kid had any plans at all, Jason thought. If he really was staying here, and had been, he'd probably grown bored to tears of the place already. 

The smile that came to Dick's face was another one that didn't reach his eyes, blinding and brilliant in every other way. Jason realized, he didn't like it. Who'd taught this kid to lie so naturally like that? It wasn't right. “Okay,” Dick said, sounding confident again. 

Jason turned his head to Bruce then, who was still standing all on his own, and if he didn't want to intrude. “Hey old man, you wanna come with? Make it a family outing.” 

Bruce shook his head. He wasn't smiling, cause, Bruce, but Jason could tell he wanted to. “You two go. It'll be good for you.” 

When he turned back at Dick, he was bouncing on his feet, shifting from side to side. Whatever lingering doubt had been there, seemed to have evaporated. He really was a cute kid, Jason thought, with affection. Probably just as screwed up as the rest of them, but cute. 

 

\- 

 

Jason waited in Bruce's study, while he put Dick to bed. Jason distinctly remembered the time before he'd become Robin, before he'd been granted the privilege that was Gotham, that Bruce had tried to be there every night to tuck him in. He had mixed feelings about Bruce doing the same to Dick, but by the way Dick had looked up, almost shocked, and then blessedly excited when Bruce led him upstairs, maybe he was just being petty. 

Back then, things had seemed simpler, and then he'd taken up Robin and everything had, well, changed. There were no more tuck ins, just nights in smoggy Gotham skies, punching in faces and making a difference. Earning his place in this city. This new kid gave him a different perspective. He'd always known Bruce had done the right thing for him, that he'd desperately needed Robin to make him into something worth while, but this felt different. 

It was hard to look at a kid like Dick, small, but undeniably gifted, and think this was ever an acceptable choice. The worst part was, he couldn't tell if it was just him being small minded, not wanting anyone to take away what he knew was his, or if he actually objected to the morals of having a kid out there. He'd done it, and despite giving him a run for his money several times, Bruce had kept him alive. He worked with other kids older and younger than him on the Teen Titans too, though most of them were metas or aliens. People that would have had a hard time fitting in under normal circumstances, teens that needed homes and families just as much as the next, but had to find them in more unconventional ways. 

Dick wasn't that. He was skilled, capable, and despite the obvious fault lines, seemed like he would be able to adjust in the future. But, there were the parallels to Bruce that worried him. The fact that Bruce had lost his parents traumatically, and never gotten over it. The fact that Dick's smiles could give Brucie real competition. 

Jason wasn't sure how long it had been when Bruce came down and joined him, but it was a good excuse to dismiss the thoughts all together. It was time to be Batman and Robin. Nothing cleared his head like that. He fell in with Bruce instinctively, behind and slightly to the left, as they went down. He hadn't been in the cool damp of the batcave for a few months, and though it was cold, Jason felt the tingling excitement that he always did when he went down there. 

Of all the people he could have picked, Bruce had chosen to share this with him. 

Jason let that thought linger, let it warm him in the chill of Gotham's winter snow, and fill his veins with energy when his hits connected. 

It was a perfect night, a few small drug busts, a few robberies thwarted. Nothing big, nothing dangerous and certainly no super villains. It felt like super villains were all they dealt with in the Teen Titans, there was always some overpowered mook or aliens with dreams of grandeur. There were dull moments of being stupid teenagers too, but there wasn't this. There wasn't patrols, and slow nights helping everyday people from petty crimes.

Jason loved it. The big fights were good too, the things that got his blood pumping, made him come up with new and inventive ways of solving impossible situations, the quick draw chess matches that leading a team with such a wide range of capabilities was. That was all adrenaline and excitement, and had it's own charm, but it wasn't this. It was saving the world, not one person in need, and, well, Jason loved being able to help one person, even if it was in a small way. 

He and Bruce were the same when it came to that. They could keep up with the metas and the aliens, but their true calling was the small stuff, the things that others would deem too insignificant. It's where they both started, where they belonged. Nothing was too small. 

There was a hum of satisfaction pulsing through him when they got back to the cave, a sense of rightness that made it seem like everything was going to be fine. Bruce had even given him a few hard won smiles, and patted him on the back, which was worth more than any kind words anyone else could give him. He'd known Bruce long enough to know that he and words did not always get along. 

They stayed up together for another hour or so, working on reports and running some general forensics, but it was all standard stuff that hallmarked the end of a good patrol night. When Bruce said he should get to bed, Jason didn't argue, but he did manage to convince Bruce to head up too, something that was rare in general. 

Jason should have driven back to his own apartment, but being home was nice, and, well, he could worry about that later. He didn't even mind when Bruce broke away to check on Dick. The night had been wonderful, every inch the validation he'd needed. 

Jason had spent his whole life waiting for the other shoe to drop, but when he went to bed that night, in that damned Wayne mattress, it felt like useless paranoia. Jason Wayne would always have a place here. Gotham was just as much his city, as it was Bruce's. He knew that. 

 

-

 

Jason got back to the manor from Wayne Tech at 5, a whole half hour before proper dinner was to be served, and several hours before the gala was meant to start in earnest. It was his first time hosting an event like this, and despite how mature everyone liked to remind him he was, he couldn't stop his fingers from twitching, and he kept scratching at the back of his neck. It was probably going to be red and angry by the time the night was over. 

He knew it was going to be a disaster the moment he stepped into the manor. 

People were bustling around, making last minute preparations to the ball room, getting food and drinks ready as they went. That part was good, seeing the trappings and fineries being put out and polished way reassuring. 

But Alfred was waiting for him in the entry way when he came in, wasn't ordering people around and getting things ready. He was waiting, specifically for Jason, and with something that writhed in his gut like dread, Jason knew what he was going to say. 

Jason cut him off before he could even say anything. “He isn't coming.” And he tried his best to not make it sound as desperate as it was. It came out angry, which was better. 

“Master Bruce has expressly stated that he will be late.” Alfred said, with the same sort of stoic loyalty that made him the best possible companion to Bruce 'Batman' Wayne. Jason could feel his temper rising, could feel the heat boiling in his gut and working it's way up through his blood stream, completely blocking out the other feelings. He was going to have to face these selfish vultures on his own, do this very public speech about why he was doing this without Bruce even in the audience. 

Alfred gave a soft shake of his head. “Stiff upper lip, Lad. Master Bruce and I have absolute faith in you.” 

He swallowed, and reminded himself that this wasn't Alfred's fault. He was above blaming him for Bruce's bullshit. He firmed his lips, and gave something of a nasty smile. “Being the most famous charity case in Gotham doesn't exactly impress this crowd.” 

“Master Jason, you are much more than that.” Alfred's tone was firm, unwavering and with more than a hint of disapproval. “I'll hear no more of such nonsense. A good cup of tea is what you need.” Jason was then wordlessly ushered into the sitting room closest to the kitchen, and into one of the plush chairs. It was blessedly quiet, and if he was going to freak out, it was a much better place for it than the foyer, where all the hired help would see him. Alfred excused himself a few moments later, likely to prepare said tea, and Jason had the decency to wait until he heard the old man's steps disappearing into the distance, before pushing himself back up onto his feet. 

Jason was pacing before he knew it, muttering to himself in puffs of anger that hardly made words, and gripping his hair and arms and face. He wanted to break things, kick and throw them across the rooms just to hear things breaking. He wanted to scream at Bruce, yell at him that this wasn't his world, that convincing these people was never something he was going to be able to do, that the whole thing was going to be a fucking failure because something else was more important. 

The worst part, was that Jason didn't even want to know what it was, because deep down, he knew he wouldn't hold it against Bruce. It was just one more missed event, one more thing swept under the rug because there were other people in need, criminals that needed to be stopped. It was just so much easier to be mad at Bruce, than to even consider that in a few hours, he would be alone out there with a bunch of hyenas and harpies. People that would look at him with pity, saying how nice it was that a boy like him had never forgotten where he came from, how difficult that transition had to have been for him, what an admirable job he was doing fitting in. All backhanded comments, made to put him in his place, make them all feel good about throwing the street rat a bone. Just the thought of having to play nice with those vultures made his stomach churn. 

He was Robin, and if Robin could kick ass on Gotham's streets, then he could deal with belittling socialites on his own. Jason just had to remind himself that, and keep his temper in check. 

Jason was probably on his 24th lap around the room, when he heard something. It had been a shift, maybe clothing or something, just a slight sound, and he whirled around. 

On top of one of the book cases, looking down at him, was Dick. He seemed started that Jason had zeroed in on him so quickly, but once the shock had faded, he hung his legs over the side of the book case, and looked down at Jason with something dark that he couldn't name. 

“Mr. Wayne is not coming to your old people party, is he?” Dick asked, his tone hollow and piercing, like this was not the first time someone had made him a promise that hadn't been fulfilled. Like he'd been stood up today too.

Jason shook his head. “Come down from there.” And maybe it shouldn't have been a bark, shouldn't have sounded so angry, but he was having a hard enough time keeping it in check anyway.

Dick curled his mouth into something that wasn't meant to be kind. “No,” his voice was petulant and just as angry as Jason's. 

“What are you, a damn bird? Get down here.” That definitely should have been more in control, shouldn't have been a demand, but the last thing Jason was concerned with was stupid appearances. 

The kid bared his teeth, his lips puckering to show gleaming white. “I said no, and no one is this house can make me!” 

“If you don't come down I'll-” 

“Master Jason!” He stopped, and turned around to meet Alfred with a look of surprise on his face. He'd actually been doing that, screaming at a child for no reason. Just cause he was angry at Bruce. Jason flopped back down into the plush chair, boneless and shocked, like his father had come back from the grave to scream obscenities at him. 

When Alfred dutifully placed the tea down beside him, Jason didn't dare look at him for the disapproval that would be there. Instead he brought his hands up to hide his face. Once Alfred's back turned though, he watched, as Alfred made his way over to the book case. 

“Young Lad, I could use a second pair of hands in the kitchen. Mixing cookie dough always wears out these old bones.” Even with charming Alfred on the end of it, and cookies as an obvious bribe, Dick hesitated to come down. He was looking down at Alfred as if he wanted to cry, but that something inside of him just wasn't full enough for it. Jason darted his eyes away when Dick turned to look at him, hoping that the kid hadn't caught him staring. 

When he dared to look back a few moments later, Dick was slowly climbing down. Jason would have expected the kid to jump, but he was looking uncertain, lashes lidded and heavy, as if there was no one there who would catch him if he did. 

When he was within range, Alfred just reached up, and plucked Dick right off the bookcase. Almost automatically, Dick molded to his side, burying his face into Alfred's shoulder. They stayed like that for just a few moments. If Alfred was surprised by the motion, he didn't show it, but he didn't let Dick linger, and gently dislodging the child, setting him on his own two feet. 

“You will find said cookie dough on the kitchen counter. I'll be there in just a moment, and I'm certain that if some of it happens to be missing when I get there, I would hardly notice.” Alfred said, and Jason closed his eyes as he heard soft footfalls, and then a door opening and closing. 

He heard the clinking of find china then, and the flowing of liquid. With resignation, Jason opened his eyes just as Alfred handed him a delicate china cup, with heat billowing up from the tea inside. The steam almost made him think of smoke, and how desperately he wanted some billowing out of his lungs, his own air literally poisoning everything it touched. 

When he dared to look over at Alfred, there was disapproval, but concern was mixed in with it, and that was almost worse. “Lad, you are doing something good tonight, just as you do every night. It is the same, and if you can do one, then you can certainly do the other.” 

Jason drank the tea, because he didn't know what there was to say. He wished it was scalding, but as always, Alfred had it at the perfect temperature. 

When the silence stretched on, and Jason was having a hard time ignoring the prickling in his eyes, Alfred gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “Take a moment, Master Jason, to relax, and get all of those foul, loathsome thoughts out of your head. When you've finished your tea, we will be in the kitchen, where an apology and assistance with the baking will be most appreciated.” 

Then Alfred was gone, slipping out of the room without even a backwards glance. Completely and utterly confident that he wasn't going to just sit in here for the rest of the night and hide. Cause Alfred. 

 

-

 

By the time Jason did make his way into the kitchen, said cookies were already in the oven, and almost baked. He'd had two cups of tea instead of one, worrying that if he had more than that, he'd be running to the toilet all night at the stupid gala, and wouldn't that be a riot. 

Dick was sitting on the counter, a place Alfred strictly enforced as a no sitting zone at the best of times, but was lenient about when things were less than stellar. The kid's legs were swinging lazily, his gaze on the cookies baking in the oven, but his eyes were vacant and wet. He looked convinced that caring about anything was too much effort to give. 

The whole thing was such a violent contrast from the day before, when the kid had been swinging in the air and hiding behind those dazzling smiles, that it was enough to give Jason whiplash. He was reminded very suddenly what he'd been told. How Alfred had said Dick had bad days, and how Bruce had asserted that the kid had watched his own parents murdered. In throws of emotional upheavals, it was easy to just take those statements at face value. Looking at the kid now, it was impossible to ignore. 

_Jason, this isn't about you._ Bruce's words had been easy to dismiss in the heat of the moment. Everything was about Bruce, every experience had to relate, every sorrow had to be stacked. It made Bruce good in ways, and horrible in others, and it was easy to poke holes in him for it, but it was hard to look at Dick Grayson, watching cookies baking, as if he was the only person left on the earth, and there were just no more tears in him. 

It was wrong. 

Those blue eyes flicked over to him, but they were dull, and uncaring. Whatever anger had been there had been replaced by indifference. Dick just seemed too tired to care. 

Alfred saw him then. He'd been putting something together on the other side of the kitchen, and he seemed to finish in the few moments that Jason stood there awkwardly in the doorway, palming the side of his neck. “Master Jason, good of you to join us.” Alfred stated primly. Dick's eyes had wandered over to Jason, but they were back down at the cookies again. 

Alfred made his way over to Dick, hovered for just a moment, and then moved past to where Jason was standing. “When the timer goes off, I need you to promptly extract the cookies from the oven, then transfer them to the cooling rack.” He eyed Jason, and then Dick for another second. “It will take two sets of hands, one to hold the pan and one to use the spatula. I intend to return and find no one injured.” 

With that statement hanging in the air, Alfred swept out of the kitchen again. Where to, and to do what, Jason didn't know, but Alfred always seemed to have a knack for tossing him into situations he thought Jason could handle, even if Jason didn't think he could. 

Now alone with Dick, Jason shifted on his feet, and folded his arms in front of him, gripping them tighter than he probably should. 

“Uh, I-” Dick didn't even look over at him, just kept letting his feet dangle, and started curling and uncurling the one hand that Jason could see. It was suppose to be easier when he wasn't being looked at, but it wasn't. “I-I didn't mean to yell. At you.” 

“Whatever,” Dick said, still not looking at Jason. It might have sounded passive aggressive on someone else, but it was so obvious that Richard Grayson was just beyond caring about it, so the statement came off as stilted and dry. 

If he let it, that would have pissed him off, but Jason took a deep breath through his nose, counted to 10, and let it out. 

“Uh, bad day?” _Great try there Todd_ , Jason thought, and winced. Just what he needed. What if the kid actually took that bait, and started talking about, feelings, or dead parents, or even Bruce. Well, Bruce would be okay, they could both gripe about Bruce, but it would still probably lead to places Jason wasn't ready to go. 

Dick saved him the trouble altogether. “Like you care,” he said, with that same hollow voice.

Jason was trying to find something to say to that, when the alarm for the cookies went off. It was as good a reason as any to derail that sorry excuse of a conversation. The whole thing was giving him whiplash. It was hard to reconcile this kid with the same one he'd seen yesterday. 

“I'll- uh- get those.” Jason said, as he went over to click off the alarm, and then grab oven mitts to take out the cookies. At least he didn't have to look at the black hole of emotion behind him. Short term solutions to long term problems, he reminded himself, but still, he breathed something that resembled relief. 

He slipped the pan out of the oven, and turned his head around to look at Dick, who hadn't moved from the counter. “You gonna help me with these? Alfred said two sets of hands.” 

Dick slid off the counter without a word, and the two of them went to work extracting the cookies from the pan. Not sure what to do, Jason asked. “Ya like cookies?” 

One shoulder raised in something of a noncommittal response was all he got, as Dick kept shoveling the cookies from the pan onto the cooling rack that Alfred had set out. When it was done, Dick did look at the cookies for a few seconds, before he simply wandered out of the kitchen the same way Alfred had gone. 

Jason watched him, before snatching up a few cookies, despite how hot they were, and jogging after him. 

“Hey, Dickie, wait.” The kid didn't, but he wasn't moving fast, and Jason caught up quick. He foisting a cookie into the Dick's face. Kid's liked cookies, it should at least get a response. “For helping.” 

Dick looked at the cookie, then blinked up at him. “They're Alfred's cookies, so they have to be good.” Jason then leaned in and stage whispered, “the only thing he can't cook well is pancakes, everything else is amazing.” 

Dick hesitated, his fingers twitched, did that curling thing again, and then he snatched the cookie out of Jason's hand, and ran away. 

Jason stood and watched him go, his head tilted, as he stuffed one of the other cookies in his mouth. He was more the type that liked 'food comfort' not 'comfort food' but he felt at that moment he rather needed the latter. If even he couldn't deal with this kid, how the hell was Bruce going to? Short of putting him in a costume, Jason couldn't see this going anywhere. He had a feeling that was Bruce's end game from the start, and he forced another cookie in his mouth at the thought.

“It doesn't seem like he took that apology very well.” Alfred said, magically behind him - like the butler ninja he was - as if he had been covertly listening somewhere, and knew that Jason hadn't actually apologized at all. Semantics. Knowing his luck, the whole house was bugged and that might have been an accurate description. “Not to worry, Master Jason. You'll have plenty of time to amend the situation over dinner.”

Oh. Wonderful. What a thing to look forward too. Hesitantly turning to face Alfred, Jason palmed the side of his neck. “I was thinking that I could just focus on the gala,” and the speech that he would have to give. Alone. This was really the last thing he needed to be worrying about.

Alfred gave him, the look. “Of course Master Jason. I'm sure all the other orphans of Gotham would be much more forgiving.”

And just like everyone else in this damn house, after soundly winning that argument, Alfred walked off back to the kitchen. Dinner it was.

 

-

 

“How old are you, Dick?” The silence between them had grown deafening, and Jason found it much more useful to focus on the various sounds of the crew setting up in the ballroom. It was only muffled sounds, an occasional crash with barks of anger after, but it was easy to focus on that, and not the kid shuffling his food from side to side and not really eating it. Jason had already fought down the urge to tell him not to play with his food five times, and then realized he was thinking it at all and blushed. Thank god the kid hadn't been looking. 

So, after trying to avoid it, and hoping that Dick would say something instead, the age question had seemed like it wasn't a horrible idea. Dick looked at him when he asked, which had it's pluses and minuses, but was in whole probably a good sign. 

“11,” the kid said not look up from his plate. 

“11? You're-” _so small._ Jason had the decency to stop that thought before it fully formed. His second line of thought, -something along the lines of 'eat your vegetables!'- was also a response he swallowed behind a very well disguised cough. “I- uh, was about that age, when I first got here.” 

That seemed to perk the kids interest, cause he actually looked up from his plate, his eyes mildly curious. “Where were you before Gotham?” 

Jason blinked, and took about three seconds to process that before answering. “No, I mean- uh, there was never a 'before Gotham'. The manor, I meant the manor.” 

“Oh,” Dick said, looking back down at his plate, and fiddling with his fork. 

“I didn't like it here either.” Jason said, deciding that talking a _little_ about himself might make this situation more bearable. He just needed to get the kid talking, he was pretty sure that once he could do that, Dick would lead the conversation on his own. Most kids did if given the chance. “Too big and empty.” 

Dick was looking at him now, eyes not quite sharp, but critical. No amiable response seemed forth coming, but Jason took a bite of his dinner, hoping the that the kid would take the bait. No such luck. 

“If you don't like the food, I'm sure there's something else you can have.” Not that Jason had seen Dick even try the food. But it was a better thing to say than 'eat your food!' and he was at least trying to be nice. It was not easy. Dick looked back at his food, and then up to Jason again. 

“Does it get better?” 

“Yeah, manors always got lots of food, we'll find something you like.” 

Dick glared up at him in annoyance, and Jason realized he hadn't been asking about the food. “Oh, you mean the manor. Uh, yeah?”

“That why you don't live here anymore?” This was sounding more like an interrogation, which was exactly what Jason didn't want. 

“Hey,” Jason said, trying to sound amiable and not defensive, and probably failing. Why was this kid so impossible to talk to? “I've got a lot on my plate right now.” 

The kid hummed, as if he'd won something he didn't want, and went back to poking his food. “Everyone here does.” 

Oh that was _it_. “I don't have to sit here and listen to you throw potshots at me. Eat your food you ungrateful brat!” 

Just like that, Dick was back in fight mode, eyes piercing and teeth bared. It was almost a relief. And then he started yelling in a language Jason didn't know, so to counter this height of maturity, Jason started yelling back in Russian. 

When Alfred walked in, several minutes later, Dick was jumping between the many chairs of the long table, grabbing any piece of silverware he could get his hands on to hurl at Jason. Jason, was chasing after him, dodging projectiles and just missing Dick's ankles. They were both screaming in different languages and as Alfred tried to assess the situation, Dick kicked up one of the dinner plates still full of food, and his aim was so good, that it didn't quite hit Jason right in the face, (cause he dodged it) but it did end up with salad decorating Jason's hair and shoulders. 

Jason roared, too angry to put any real finesse into the fight, and pounced. Then the two of them were tumbling on the carpeted floor, Dick clawing viciously at Jason's face and arms and Jason using too much pressure to keep the kid down as he tried to wriggle and buck his way out of Jason's hands. 

Before Alfred could get anything in edgewise, Jason was hefting the kid up and heaved him over his shoulder like a sack of writhing snakes, hissing and biting included. He marched out of the dining room, with salad dressing dripping out of his hair. Alfred rushed behind him as he stomped up the stairs and to the room that he knew Alfred had said was Dick's. 

He turned the handle, kicked the door open, and almost tripped over an errant shoe in the entry way. He instead opted to hurl Dick across the room, landing him squarely on the bed, his eyes wide as he went airborne, before he bounced on the bed. Jason pointed his finger, menacing and angry. “Alfred didn't put time and effort into cooking for us so that you could ruin it in a hissy fit! Let's see how you like going hungry!” 

There was a retort on the kids lips, his face a wash of anger and rage, but Jason slammed the door shut before Dick could say anything. A thundering, wordless shout boomed from the room just as the door slammed closed, and even though the room was suppose to be sound proof, Jason could hear things breaking, the sound of little fists smashing into things, and then raining down on the door. 

Alfred was on his heals, face white with shock, but Jason didn't dare give him even a second to compose himself. “Did Bruce kid-proof the windows in this room?” 

Alfred sputtered, “Master Jason-” 

“Did he?” 

“I will not-” 

“Alfred.” 

The old man was fuming, but he took a deep, slow breath, his eyes angry, and answered. “It was done. Master Bruce was concerned the young Lad would attempt climbing out.” 

“Good,” Jason said. He turned back to the door, the knob still firmly in his hand, and he could feel the kid trying to pry it open on his side. “You got a key for this?” 

Alfred's face went from white to red in about 2 seconds flat. “I will not stand here and let you lock that child in his room like he's some misbehaving puppy!” 

“Alf, if we don't lock him in, he's gone, and we are never gonna find him again.” 

“After a display like that I would hardly blame him. Every single worker on the premise just saw you manhandling a wailing child up these stairs, sporting scratch marks all over your face and arms, and he with bruises that you gave him. I, under no circumstances, will let you lock him in. Now if you'll excuse me, there is a child in that room that needs to know that someone in this house cares about his well being.” Alfred breezed right past him then, as if he was still 10 years old. He pried Jason's hand off the door knob, opened the door, slipped in, and then promptly shut it again. 

Jason swallowed, sure he could hear the muffled sound of sobbing on the other side of the door.

 

-

 

When Alfred found him several hours later, Jason had washed the salad dressing from his hair and was barking out orders to the help, who were still giving him strange looks that he was pointedly ignoring. He felt better doing this, and checked his watch to make sure he still had a little bit more time to make sure everything was in order before he went to change. The last thing he needed, was any time to himself to obsess over this whole thing. 

He wondered if any of the help would report them to social services, then promptly realized that Bruce would just pay off the official not to look too hard. Money talked in Gotham, and Bruce had more than enough to get almost anything he wanted. If he wanted this to go away, it would. Didn't make it right. 

Jason turned mid sentence when Alfred tapped his elbow, and when Alfred led him off into a more secluded room, Jason followed without a word. Once the door was closed, and locked behind them, Alfred turned on him with a look that Jason had a hard time describing. Disappointed didn't seem like a good enough word. “He's asleep. For now, we shall keep this between the three of us, but if this becomes a repeated problem, Master Bruce will be made aware of it. Come tomorrow, I expect both of you to apologize, and for you to keep your promised plans with Master Dick. I am going to insist to Master Bruce that both of you be chaperoned, since playing well with others doesn't seem to be something either of you excel at. Do I make myself clear, young man?” 

“Crystal,” Jason said. 

Alfred eyed him for a solid five seconds, before a slight raise of his chin indicated that he found the answer acceptable. “Very well then. Off to change then. I've already had your suit set out for you, and all of the necessary make up you will need to hide those rather nasty scratch marks on your face.”

“Thanks Alf,” Jason managed to get out past the lump in his throat. “Surprised he didn't get my eye.”

“I have no doubt it was not for a lack of trying.” Alfred said, not unkindly. “I'll take the lead on the last minute preparations, off you go.” 

Jason nodded, and started towards the door, before Alfred stopped him with a light hand on his shoulder. “It bears saying, that you, Jason Wayne, are only 16 years old. Goodness knows no one here treats you like a teenager, being so mature for your age, but you are still in that odious age twixt 12 and 20. We all make mistakes. If this is the worst of our terrible teen woes, we are lucky. For now, let us leave the rough housing in the subbasement.” 

“Thanks, Alf.” Jason managed to choke out, not really able to look up and meet Alfred's kind gray eyes. He shuffled out of the room faster than he probably should have, and made his way back upstairs to his own bedroom. Waiting there for him, was the suit and cosmetics that Alfred had mentioned, but also a cup of hot tea, and a tray of cookies. He stuffed one into his mouth, and started properly getting ready. 

 

-

 

The the speech had gone well. People had clapped when they were suppose to, and laughed at the cornball jokes that Jason made. He hadn't fumbled a single line, and he'd said it with enough confidence to make it convincing. Probably not up to Bruce's standards, but he wasn't there to see it anyway. The good thing about this crowd, was that even if it was horrible, none of them would ever say it to his face. He'd hear about it in whispered tones for years to come, about 'the poor Wayne charity case trying to step into daddy's shoes' and other equally demeaning things. Thinking about it made him angry, so he didn't think about it. 

He just went around the party, making the rounds, talking with most of the couples and singles there, and thanking them for coming to support the charity. Most of the people there didn't even really know or care what he was trying to promote, but that was just a systemic problem of the wealthy, as far as he could tell. They had a hard time caring about anything, so he tried not to take it personally. To them, it was just another social gathering, an excuse to hob nob with all the other filthy rich bastards that owned this city. To a poverty stricken family, these donations could mean days with three meals instead of one. To an orphan, it could mean the difference between staying warm this winter or freezing to death. It was hard to remember that, living and working with these kinds of people, but it was easier to handle them when he reminded himself that he was doing this for a reason. 

“Jason,” a woman in her mid thirties called to him on his second circuit of the room. He'd talked to her already, but she seemed a little less inhibited this time. Her dress was low cut, showing off her ample chest, and her wrists were decked in matching diamond bracelets. He turned to meet her, and smiled like he meant it. That didn't necessarily mean it was a good smile, probably, cause they'd all had their laugh at how he had a hard time smiling when he was first adopted, but at this point, they were all rather used to it. He heard it muttered about less and less as the years went on, but he had a sinking suspicion that it would come back to haunt him at some point. “Where is Brucie? I've been around the room twice, and I've yet to see him.” 

Jason shrugged, a little embarrassed by the outright question, he'd gotten a condolence of sorts from the only people here he liked (the Gordons) but no one else had just outright asked him where Bruce was. Maybe she'd been hitting the sauce a little too much. “Something came up, but he's suppose to show up at some point.” He would have added a mental 'I hope' at the end of that statement, but at the moment, Jason couldn't really be sure how happy Bruce would be to see him. He hardly had the best record of being understanding, and Jason was already guilty enough as it was. It was nice of Alfred to try and protect him, but Jason wasn't exactly sure he was deserving at the moment.

“That's horrible!” The woman said, sounding genuinely affronted. “He's just so fond of you, I was sure he'd be here for the whole thing!” She leaned in a little closer, and he could smell the alcohol coming out of her skin. “He's been scarce since you moved, you know.” He didn't. Alfred kept him abreast on some matters, but there was a lot that went unsaid. When Bruce and he actually did talk to each other, it tended to be shop talk, and little else. Hell, there's been a kid in his house and no one had seen fit to tell him. The woman continued, swaying back out of Jason's bubble, thankfully unaware of how the statement unnerve him. “I was sure he'd come out of his sad, little, empty nest when you came back.” 

“He should be here soon.” Jason said, before quickly dismissing himself from the woman. It had been hours from when the party had started, since he'd had to perform the speech, but Bruce was still a no show. Under other circumstances, Jason would be proud of himself that things had gone so well without him, but it was hard to ignore that sad little voice in his head, who couldn't stop thinking about how the only person who mattered hadn't seen how well he'd done, and if Bruce found out about the fight he'd had with Dick, he probably wouldn't even care. 

His second round of the room done, Jason was finally settling on one of the many walls, nursing a champagne flute filled with sparkling apple juice. He sort of wished it was real alcohol. 

Why was it always so hard to just be happy about things? The night had been a moderate success, he'd helped raise tons of money for needy kids and families all over Gotham, but that hollow feeling of self worth was biting at his heals, and he viciously wanted to strangle it. 

It was around that time, that Brucie blustered into the room, a drink already in hand, hair, smile and suit impeccable, with Selina Kyle looped in one arm. Ever the dramatic showman, the room seemed to turn and flutter when Bruce walked in. A true man of the hour, fashionably late with one of Gotham's prettiest vixens at his side. If Jason didn't know better, he would have thought it was staged.

Jason wanted to throw a tantrum at the sight, but he kept to his wallflower position, happy to mumble obscenities into his juice as everyone went to offer Bruce congratulations, as if this fabulous party was his doing, and his charity was so noble and generous.

Jason loved Bruce, would probably always love Bruce. Would thieve, maim, kill and die for him in a heart beat, but it was hard to exist in his shadow, and still feel like he was deserving of the scraps he got. 

Bruce caught sight of him once, their eyes locking for just a moment, before Brucie was back, the undisputed life of the party. What everyone had really come for. Now that the guest of honor had arrived, there wasn't any need for him, and it was easy to slip away. The party would probably go on for several more hours, but he doubted his presence would be missed. He'd gone in, and done what he needed to. Most of the people there had been generous with their pocketbooks, he couldn't expect anything else from them. 

He was in front of Dick's closed door before he knew what he was doing. He'd been so wrapped up in just leaving, slipping out as if someone would try to make him stay, that he hadn't thought of where to go. God he hoped the kid was asleep, there was an apology that had been searing through his throat all night, but he didn't know if he'd ever be able to give it form. 

With an ache in his fingers that felt like desperation, like the blood of his father slowly poisoning him, Jason reached for the knob, and opened the door. 

The room was washed in silence, none of the party's revelries reached up this high, but the soft lights from the first floor drifted in through the windows, leaving shifting imprints on the ceiling. “Dick?” It came out a hushed whisper, like a secret he wasn't sure he really wanted to tell. He waited, looking for some sort of confirmation that he'd been heard, but there was no answer, the mound on the bed didn't move. Jason figured that was just as well. “I-I'm, I'm sorry. Today was-uh-” He sighed, a small pathetic little sound before starting again. “I'll do better. I know it's...hard, being here. I get that. I just- I-I'll do better.” He stuttered back into silence, infinitely grateful for it, his eyes lingering on the old plush carpets of the room. 

Jason frowned, and looked around. It was dark, but he had a feeling that wasn't the issue. “Dick?” He said this time, a little louder, and when nothing happened, he walked properly into the room. 

The shoes that Jason had almost tripped on earlier that evening were suspiciously missing. When he pulled back the blankets, he saw that the kid had carefully laid out the bedding to look like he was still there. Jason knew that Bruce liked to check up on him when he got back, but that he rarely actually did more than poke his head in. Obviously, Dick had also realized this. 

Jason cursed, and ran out of the room. He had a kid to track down. 

 

-

 

He'd been hoping to find Dick on the ground, but really he should have known better. The minute he was out on Gotham's buildings, the kid wasn't nearly as hard to find as he'd thought. He was in the process of stopping a small time mugging, when Dick came to him all on his own, a dark stock of hair and blue eyes peering out at him from on top of a nearby room. 

Dick had obviously been in Gotham long enough to know that the police weren't going to help him, and that if anyone was going to take down his parents murderer, it was going to be a costume. Bruce usually had the right of these things, and from what he'd said, it wasn't a coincidence that Batman had come across Dick Grayson several times when he went out on patrol. Jason would bet good money that a kid like Dick could disappear if he wanted to, but he doubted that had ever been part of the plan. 

Once Robin was done tying up the mooks, and had called the police to pick them up, he looked up at the kid and gave that trademark Robin grin. Dick didn't even start at being found, and only took a step back when Robin zip lined right over. 

Dick seemed a little suspicious, but it didn't look like he had any lingering concerns about standing in front of Robin. If the kid had seriously faced down Batman a time or two, and then ignored what he'd said, Jason figured he had very little to worry about in front of Robin.

“It's a little past your bed time.” Robin said, making the statement playful and light. God it was so much easier being Robin. Robin didn't have to worry about being socially awkward, or knowing more than he should, and Robin could open up and be vulnerable to anyone, cause he was a badass who helped people. He should have just done this sooner, instead of trying to be himself. “Need a ride home? It's pretty cold out.” 

Dick's eyes were transfixed on the 'R' on his chest, and then with the brilliant red and black outfit. The bright color made him so much more approachable than Batman. “You're Robin.” Dick said, with just a hint of wonder in his voice. He was bundled up in a black jacket that was too big on him, but he was still shivering in the cold. 

Robin nodded. “Yeah,” he extended his hand. “Where do you live? I'll get you home safe and sound before anyone even notices you're gone.” 

Blue eyes wavered. “I don't have a home anymore.” He looked smaller admitting that, all curled in on himself as if the words were a blow he had been anticipating, his eyes down to the street below them. Then those big eyes were looking back at him again. “Can you help me?” 

Robin's smiled thinned, more firm than before. “I can try.” He said, but there was one thing he needed to do first. He took a hesitant step forward, and when Dick didn't back away, Robin closed the distance, and wrapped a secure arm around his waist. The kid was freezing. “First things first thought, lets get you out of this cold.” 

It was probably a mistake to ever let this kid experience the rush of the grappling swing, but that was exactly what he did. Once Robin was sure that Dick was safe in his grip, he fired off the gun and they went soaring. Dick held on tightly, his breathing uneven and eyes blown wide in something that resembled genuine excitement. It was the rawest display of pleasure Jason had seen on the kid, and it filled him with so many conflicting emotions that Jason didn't know what to do with them all. So he fell back on tried and true Bat instincts, which was to repress, repress, and repress. 

When Robin brought them to a stop, it was in front of an old dinner, its bright windows like a beacon in the otherwise dark landscape of Gotham's streets. He let go of Dick then, and motioned for him to go inside. The kid hesitated, before pushing the door open. The staff at this particular dinner had seen him several times during his career as Robin, but he'd been gone a while, and they tended to go through late night staff like most people went through the common colds, so it wasn't really that surprising when a waitress he'd never seen before dropped her pad of paper when they walked in. Robin didn't pay it much mind, just gave her a cheeky grin, and followed Dick to a corner booth. 

When the waitress did actually manage to come over, a mix of excitement and shock still on her face, Robin ordered two hot chocolates and two burgers. Dick didn't put up any protests, so he figured it was probably fine. Once she'd scurried back off, Robin focused his eyes back on Dick. The kid always seemed to look small, but he looked it more so now, swimming in his big black jacket, and dwarfed by the vibrant green and yellow of the booth's upholstery. 

He expected Dick to start talking, to outright explaining himself, or at least start telling him how he could help, but the silence stretched between them. He was fiddling with his hands, holding them together under the table, and not looking up to meet Robin's eyes. 

“Hey,” Robin said, shifting his head around to try and see Dick's downcast eyes. The remark got the kid to look up at him at least. “How can I help?” 

Dick took a steadying breath, his eyes flicking back down before they went to Robin's mask. “I have to find the man that killed my parents.” Dick said, his words careful and even. When Robin didn't say anything, he continued. “They were murdered. The police don't believe me, they think it was an accident, but they're wrong. The only accident that man made was leaving me alive.” Dick's eyes had turned vicious, like he was out for blood and nothing in the world would deter him. It was no wonder Bruce wanted to keep this kid away from the actual case. “Batman believes me, but he hasn't done anything! It's been a whole month! I-” Dick cut himself off, bit his lip so hard that it looked like it might bleed. “I'm all alone now.” There was so much raw emotion on Dick's face, that it was kind of staggering. Sure, he usually saw crooks being cocky, and then scared shitless, but this was different. This was Dick, all on his own, weak and volatile in the same stroke, the force of those emotions at war inside him, with nowhere to go. Jason wasn't sure if he was looking at the build up of an explosion, or the aftermath of the shattered pieces left behind. 

“Hey,” Robin said again, putting his hand, palm up on the table, an open invitation if Dick wanted to take it. “Believe me, if the big guy said he'd help, he'll help. But it's gonna take time. This guy, my guess is he's scared-” 

“He should be,” Dick said, the heat in his voice smoldering, Robin's hand all but ignored. 

Robin nodded. “Oh yeah, he is. That's why he's hiding, but scumbags like that, they always screw up. We'll get 'em, but you've gotta be patient. Would you're parents want you out wandering the streets of Gotham at night? It's dangerous. I'm sure there are people that are worried about you.” 

It was the wrong thing to say, Dick's eyes hardened in an instant, and he curled in on himself. Instinctively, Jason took back his hand. So much for offering physical contact. He'd been sure that Dick would take it. 

“No one,” Dick practically spat. “They're all too busy. They don't care, why should they? I'm just a nuisance, some stupid kid with nowhere else to go. As soon as they get tired of me, they'll send me away.” 

“Sounds like they're pretty bad.” Robin said, as their hot chocolates arrived. Dick watched as the waitress walked away, before eyeing the drink. He swallowed before picking it up in his hands, and cradling it to his chest, as if it could keep him warm. 

He took a sip, and then looked over at Robin with lidded, sad eyes. “I wish they were bad.” 

Robin cocked his head in confusion. 

“If they were bad, I'd just leave, and I wouldn't go back, but I-” Dick stopped, scrunched up his face like he wasn't sure if he was annoyed or sad.

“You want to stay with them?” Robin asked, softly. 

Dick looked like he was going to choke. “I don't know. They're good, I know they're good, but they're never around and I-” 

“You're lonely.” 

Dick nodded, obviously not comfortable outright answering the question. “I miss my mom and dad,” he held the cup of hot cocoa, until his hands were white. “Zitka, Mr. Haly- my family.” He choked on air, his eyes wet and so sad that Jason wasn't sure there was a word for it. “They left me.” 

Jason thought he had a better picture than this, but he was starting to understand that very little about this kid was simple. Or maybe he just needed to do more fact checking. If Dick had family, that's where he should have gone. Had Bruce pulled strings to get him taken away? Jason didn't think he'd do that, but he also couldn't outright dismiss the idea either. Jason's father had been alive when Bruce adopted him, and it hadn't changed anything, not that Jason had ever wanted to go back, but still. “Do you want to be with your family?” 

Dick looked down at his cup. “Yeah,” he looked back up. “But I can't. That,” Dick curled his lips, his teeth bared in raged, “murderer is still here. I won't leave until I've ruined him.” The statement in and of itself was not surprising, but the force behind it, the tension in the kids shoulders, the set of determination on his face. Dick Grayson wanted to murder the man who'd taken his parents away, and Jason had no idea how on earth anyone was going to stop him from either doing it, or getting himself killed in the process. 

Robin had to try anyway. “What happens after that?” 

Dick looked at him, his head tilted slightly to the side, his eyes scrunched and lips slightly pursed. He wasn't forthcoming with anything, and they sat there in silence. The food arrived then, the waitress asking if they needed anything else before sensing she was not wanted, and scurrying off. 

Dick focused his eyes down on the hamburger, and placed down his cup to start eating. Jason dipped a few fries in ketchup, watching the kid with a keen eye. The meal passed in silence, with Dick mostly picking at his food, eating only about a quarter of it. He didn't seem to have much appetite. 

Jason on the other hand, finished off his food in nothing flat. Food was food, and he took a moral issue with wasting any. Once he'd finished, and Dick was still just poking at his food dismissively, Jason rolled his eyes, thankful that the mask didn't show that. 

“Whats your name kid?” It should have been one of his first questions, but it had gotten away from him at some point. 

Big blue eyes blinked up at him. “Dick, Dick Grayson, of the Flying Graysons.” Dick said, with a strange mix of pride and sadness. 

Jason blinked. He'd left off that last part when they'd first been introduced. It sounded like, well, Jason wasn't sure what it sounded like, but he filed the information away for later. “You gonna finish that food Dick?” Dick looked at what was left of his plate, put his hands in his lap, and shook his head no. “Mind if I finish it for you?” Dick blinked at him in something that resembled confusion, but he shook his head, and scooted his plate over to Jason. 

He made quick work of the second plate, finishing off everything that Dick had left behind. Best not let it go to waste, as far as he was concerned. Once he'd finished off both plates, and had used the napkin to wipe off his face, Jason set the plates aside, and looked back at Dick. 

“So, Dick. You didn't answer my question. What happens after you track down this murderer?” He paused for a few seconds, letting the question sink in, before continuing. “Let's just say you get everything you want. You find him, and you drop him from a building-” Dick visibly winced, and Jason tried to ignore it, but filed the reaction away for later analysis, “or something. So, he's gone. What happens after that, Dick? What do you do.” 

“It doesn't matter.” The statement was said with such finality, that Jason stopped, and considered his words more carefully. 

“It matters. It matters to me, Dick. To Batman, and everyone who cares about you. We want to give you justice, that's what we try to do. But it's useless if there's no after. Right now, you've got revenge, but you need more than that. You deserve more than a vendetta.” 

The kid was quiet after that, his eyes locked on the mug of hot chocolate still on the table. He reached over and cradled it in both hands, before tipping it over and finishing it. He kept looking into it, as if there was something in it that would give him the answer he wanted. 

For a second there, Jason was sure he'd made some sort of an impact, that Dick was carefully thinking over what he'd said. But then Dick looked up at him, all smoldering intensity, and alarm bells started to blare in Jason's head. “What about you?” Jason attempted to wave that off, trying to dismiss it instinctively, his mouth already open for a response, but Dick didn't give him the chance, just charged ahead. “You do this every night. You stop crimes and help people. Isn't it the same? There's no after. You just keep going, chasing the next criminal. It's the same thing.” 

“I'm not fighting some vendetta to make me feel good.” Jason declared, suddenly on the defensive, and not liking it one bit. “I help people, put my life on the line to do things that others won't, because it needs to be done.”

Dick's eyes never left Robin's mask. “I can do whats right too.” 

“Are you seriously telling me you want to be a vigilante?” Jason hissed, his voice bordering on exasperation. He tried not to groan dramatically when Dick gave him a firm nod, and partially failed. “You,” Jason pointed accusingly, “are impossible. Take it from me, vigilante stuff sucks. Yeah, you help people, but it's a lifetime gig. It never ends. There's always going to be another wacko out to wreck everything you've built. It's long hours and you're always busy. Kiss sports or hobbies good-bye, you never have time for anything else. It eats you up, and if you don't die, it spits you out a bitter old man.” 

Dick's face was firm and unwavering. “I don't care. I don't have anything to lose.” 

Jason swallowed. “You're way too young.” 

“You were too young. I looked it up, you were even smaller than me when you started.” 

Jason didn't have anything to say to that. He flopped back into the plush padding of the booth, folding his arms and stretching out his feet. “Kid, Dick, is this really what you want? You could have a normal family, a dog, anything. But this? If you pick this, it's going to be, everything. It's going to be the most important thing for the rest of your life.” 

Dick shrugged his shoulders, one a little before the other. “I should have died with my parents. If I can stop bad things from happening, then its okay.” 

Jason stretched his neck back so that he was looking up at the ceiling. When he looked back over at Dick, he gave the kid his best stink eye, but Dick didn't even budge. 

“It's a bad idea.” Jason finally said. “But I'll talk to Batman.” Jason curled back in, sitting up properly, and putting out one finger. “But only under one condition.” 

Dick perked up at that, a cocky sort of look on his face. The little shit was proud of himself. “You get yourself in order. You talk to the people around you, don't shut them out. I bet you they care, you just have to give them a chance.” Dick scrunched his nose up at that, as if the idea smelt bad, but he offered a noncommittal half shrug. 

“I'll try.” 

“I mean it Dick, I want you to try and make your home life work. Things aren't as bad as they seem. Now, number 2-” 

“You only said one condition,” Dick whined, and Jason shushed him with a wave of his hand. 

“I lied. Second condition. You let me take you home tonight, and no more sneaking out on your own.” 

Dick grumbled something that sounded distinctly like “that's _three_ things you moron, not one,” but otherwise nodded slightly in agreement. 

“So, what are the conditions again, and I wanna hear you say them.” 

Dick rolled his eyes so dramatically that his whole head moved with the motion. He then leveled Robin with an unamused look. It was sorta cute. “Talk to people, you take me home, no sneaking out.” Dick then held up three fingers, and waved them obnoxiously in Robin's face, as if to prove that it was three, not one. 

Robin chuckled at him, and waved off the three offending fingers. “You gotta promise me that first one Dick. No matter what, you never shut people out. It's easy to think that no one in the world is going to understand, but you've gotta find someone to talk to. It's important.” 

Dick looked at him then, really looked at him, and those blue eyes were stifling. “Then I'll talk to you. You're better at it than Batman.” 

Jason stuttered at that, his own surprise at the statement overriding even the Robin persona. He cleared his throat to try and mask it, but Dick was giving him this look, that Jason could not place. “O-of course. You can always talk to me, but you really need someone you'll see every day. Someone, closer to home.” 

“When I become a hero, I'll see you every day. We'll talk then.” Dick said, with so much assurance that it was sort of baffling. “But until then-” the kid paused, looked down at the table. “I've got someone in mind.” 

Probably Alfred. Alfred was always a good choice. “Good. Talk to them, I'm sure they'll listen.” The waitress came back with the bill then, and Jason watched her walk off after he'd paid, wondering how much of their conversation she'd snooped on. Not much, if he could guess, but enough that she felt involved. That waitress was not going to last on the night shift for long. When he looked back over at Dick, the kid seemed a little lighter. Not happy exactly, but somehow relieved, like some of the weight had left his shoulders. It was a good sign. 

As Robin got up from the booth, Dick followed fast on his heals, until they were right next to each other. Then, before Jason even knew it, Dick had slipped his hand into Robin's, and was holding on. Jason blinked about three times, before holding on too. 

“So,” Robin said, pulling out a set of keys from his utility belt. He didn't miss the shiver that went through the kid as they left the dinner, and Dick sidled up closer to his side, obviously for warmth. Robin grinned. “Where are we going?” 

Dick looked up at him, and then said, matter of factly. “Wayne manor.” 

Of course Jason had been expecting the answer, but Robin hadn't, and he gave a good show at being shocked. “Wayne manor? Wow, that's a nice place! Are you staying with Bruce Wayne?” 

Dick puffed air out of his nose, and kept walking with Robin as they headed away. “Yeah,” Dick kept his eyes forward. “It's not as cool as you'd think. Sure, there's lots to do, but it's big and lonely.” He gestured with his one free hand, as if something was really big, but then let his hand drop sadly back to his side, as if the big was impressive, but didn't matter. 

“Bruce Wayne's a really nice guy though, I've met him a few times.” Robin said, glancing down at Dick, and making sure he was leading them in the right direction. It was always weird walking around Gotham at night, he definitely wasn't used to it. “I'm sure he cares about you.” 

Dick scrunched up his nose. “I know that. It's easy to tell. Mr. Wayne worries about me a lot, but he's sorta stupid, so he doesn't know what to do with me.” Jason outright choked on that, and wanted to laugh, but he didn't. He just smiled a shit eating grin, and thought about having those words framed. Dick looked up at him suspiciously though. “Don't tell him I said that. He's not really stupid, he's actually really smart, but he's stupid in special ways.” Dick said simply, and all Jason could do was nod in agreement and try not to laugh. Kid wasn't exactly wrong. 

Jason almost didn't want to go on from there, but the opportunity was way too tempting to pass up. He just couldn't resist. “What about Jason Wayne? He seems nice.” 

Dick gave something of a humming sound, like a little sigh that he wouldn't let out of his throat. “His son's good too, Jason. He tries really hard, and he gets mad too much, but I like him.” Dick looked up at Robin with that same sort of brilliance that couldn't be faked. “He's taking me ice skating tomorrow!” Then Dick stopped, and Robin was forced to stop with him, since Dick was gripping his hand so tightly. “I mean, I hope he takes me. We got in a fight.” He looked back up at Robin. “Do you think he'll still take me?”

Robin shrugged. “I dunno, what happened?” 

Dick looked away, and started walking again. His cheeks were puffy. “It was a bad day. Mr Alfred -he's the butler- he told me that some days are just bad, and this was one of them. I just woke up thinking of mom's singing and dad's laugh, and I got scared, because I couldn't remember exactly what they sounded like. It's only been a month and I-” Dick stopped there, bit his lip, and wiped at his eyes. When he started again, his tone was even, as if he hadn't almost started crying. “Mr. Wayne said he'd come home early, and he'd play catch with me, but he didn't. He does that a lot, and sometimes it's easier to be angry then sad. Jason came home, and he was mad too. He yelled at me and I yelled back. I don't think he likes me, not like Mr. Wayne does. I want him to like me, but he's hard to read. Other people are easier.” 

Jason let that sink in, not sure he really wanted to think about what it implied. At least it was nice that Dick wanted them to get along? “Maybe you should say your sorry tomorrow? I'm sure he feels bad too.” 

“He's really busy though, like Mr. Wayne, and every time he looks at me, he's got this weird look on his face, like he thinks I'm going to steal his dad.” Dick looked back up at him then. “He hates it when I hug Mr. Wayne. I only did it once, and he got so mad that he stomped out of the room. I don't know why he's jealous, Mr. Wayne is so happy when he's around, and you can tell he's really proud too. I'm just some kid that he feels bad for, Jason's his son, and he loves him so much that it hurts seeing them together.”

Jason swallowed, and smiled at Dick, trying his best to make it genuine. “Sounds like you're really observant. But, give them a chance. I'm sure you aren't just some kid to them. Bruce Wayne doesn't just take in anyone.” 

Dick nodded. “I'll apologize tomorrow, and tell Jason I still want to go. Do you think if I ask nicely Mr. Wayne will go with us?” 

“Maybe,” Robin said. _If I have anything to say about it he will,_ Jason thought to himself. 

They walked in silence for a while more, Dick still plastered to his side for warmth, until they reached the Batmobile, parked a little ways away. If the kid was surprised to see it, he didn't show it. He did give Robin a skeptical look though. “Does Batman know you have his car keys? Are you old enough to drive?” 

He gave a full Robin grin then, and swung the keys dramatically around one finger. “First rule of being a vigilante, when the masks on, no one knows how old you are. Second rule, what Batman doesn't know, can't hurt him.” Dick beamed at that, just like Jason knew he would. There was a healthy bit of rebellion in this one. 

With a devilish grin on his face, Dick bounded over to the passengers side of the car, and let himself in. 

It was obviously not the first time Dick had been in the Batmobile, because he didn't gape at all the buttons and gadgets, and he didn't try to push any of them either. He just sat in his chair, his legs swinging, looking out the window, then over at Robin, and then out the windshield. 

There were other questions burning on Jason's mind, things he wanted desperately to ask under the guise of Robin, who could ask almost anything, but it felt a little like cheating. There were things Robin wasn't suppose to know too. He didn't want to slip up, and give the kid any room to figure it out on his own. It was probably only a matter of time before he was properly indoctrinated to the lifestyle, but a part of Jason still didn't want him there, and he knew now that it wasn't the sad petty part of him talking either. He just genuinely wanted this kid to be okay, not thrust into the kind of no mans land that was the vigilante lifestyle. Dick was smart enough, and athletic enough to do anything he wanted, and with Bruce's backing, the sky really was the limit. There was just so much other good this kid could do, and being a vigilante was just so dangerous. 

The train of thought was so engrossing, that before Jason knew it, they were parked outside Wayne manor. He turned to look at Dick then, smiling at him. “This your stop kid?” 

Dick nodded, but looked at Robin with a hint of something Jason couldn't place. “I need something else. It's small, but it's important.” Dick said, with the sort of severity reserved for children.

“What is it?” Robin asked, trying not to show his own curiosity at the question. 

“Get out of the car.” Dick said, and then watched, as Jason gave him a confused look, but did as he was told. Once he was out of the car, he heard the other door slap shut, and the sound of little feet running over to meet him. Then there was Dick, barreling around the side of the car, his breath fogging in the cold weather. He positioned himself so that he was standing right in front of Robin, and looked up at him before pointing down with one finger. “On your knees.” He said. 

“You're a little young for demands like that.” Robin joked, but at the way Dick was looking at him, he did it anyway. The ground was cold under his knees, and it was beyond uncomfortable, but at this height, he was only a little taller than Dick. “Like this?” Jason asked, crossing his arms. 

Dick nodded, before coming forward, and pulling his crossed arms apart. “Don't cross them.” He said, then looked Robin over critically. It reminded Jason strangely of the photo shoot he'd done the other day, where people had scrutinized and posed him in whatever way they'd thought was best. He hadn't liked it then, and he certainly didn't like it now, but he tried not to show it. 

“You got a reason for all this, Dickie?” 

Dick ignored the question, and nodded to himself, as if deciding that it was right. “Close your eyes.” He said. 

Robin didn't usually look completely flabbergasted, but he probably did in that exact moment. “What?” 

“Closer your eyes.” Dick repeated. “And no peeking!” 

This seemed like a bad idea in general, as far as Jason could tell, and he grumbled about it, which wasn't really what Robin should have done, but oh well. He did it anyway. 

From in front of him, he could hear shuffling, and the general movement of feet. He knelt there for what seemed like a long time, slowly losing his patience. But when he called out “Dick-” in annoyance, something changed. He could feel it, the shift of movement in front of him, the difference in the foot falls. The kid was going to rush him. 

Jason's eyes flew open just as Dick's arms wrapped around his neck, in what Jason realized suddenly, was a hug. A bone deep, gripping hug, with this kid, who was suddenly in his arms, holding on for dear life. 

It took Jason a few moments to realize what had happened, that Dick wasn't letting go of him. After the initial blinking shock, Jason was snaking an arm around his back, and placing the other to card through thick black hair. Dick slotted his head against Jason's shoulder and neck. Jason could have swore the kid was crying, trembling in his arms, but there was nothing wet on his shoulder. Jason settled his head on top of Dick's, and just held on, let him stay as long as he needed. 

When Dick finally pulled away, the smile on his face was a fragile thing, like every bit of happiness he could find from now on would be fleeting. Jason didn't have anything to say, but Robin ruffled his hair affectionately. “Lets get you home.” 

The walked to the door hand in hand, and the instant that he rang the doorbell, Alfred was there. He would have looked impassive to anyone else, but Jason could see how worried he'd been in the wrinkles around his eyes, at the way his lips were held ever so still. “Master Richard,” his tone was so lovingly firm that Jason had to stifle a laugh. He had been on the end of that tone far too many times, it was sorta nice to see it pointed at someone else for a change. “I'll have you know that I have been worried sick about you young man.” 

Dick, for his part, looked suitably cowed, his head hung in embarrassment, and his shoes kicking at nothing. Then he turned those big blue eyes on Alfred, and said “I'm sorry Mr. Alfred. I won't sneak out anymore.” This kid was good, even Alfred's ire was fading fast. Jason hoped the kid grew out of it, but he had a sinking suspicion that his new baby brother was going to be charming everyone within a five mile radius for years to come. As long as he kept that temper in check, anyway. It was not a pleasant thought. 

As Dick walked into the threshold of the manor, Robin tousled his hair one more time, and when Dick turned back around to look at him, he waved. “No more sneaking out, right?” 

Dick nodded, and waved back. “Thanks, Robin.” 

After Dick's back had been turned, Alfred gave him one of the warmest smiles he'd ever seen on the man, a silent thanks, and closed the door. 

He stood there, for a few moments, watching the light from the manor as it flickered across the expansive Wayne lawn, wondered if any of the party goers would notice the Batmobile sitting in the drive, and realized he didn't care. 

With a smile that was equal parts Jason, and Robin, he about faced, and headed back to the car, feeling as high as a kite. Sometimes one person made the difference, and tonight, that person had been Robin. 

 

-

 

Robin checked into the cave several hours later, the smell of Gotham heavy on his suit. Winter was usually quiet in Gotham (except for maybe Christmas) and it wasn't that cold yet, so it felt like a double win. 

Bruce was waiting for him when he got there, sitting at the computer typing out reports or running search engines. At that hour, all of the gala's guests would have been long gone, asleep in their beds. He'd almost expected Batman to come out and join him, but apparently that hadn't been on the agenda. 

After bringing Dick home, Jason had returned the Batmobile to it's proper place in the cave, and took out Robin's bike instead, Bruce had probably notice of course, but he hadn't been trying to hide it. In the winter cold, the Batmobile was a better choice if he was picking up a passenger. Dick might have liked being on the bike, but there was no comparing it to a warm car on a cold night.

Bruce didn't get up from the computer when he drove in, but Jason felt eyes on him when he hopped off the bike and walked over. There was still some lingering tension, some nettling anger at Bruce for not being there earlier, but it was much quieter now. It had been harder to ignore when he'd been alone in a sea of judgmental saccharine faces. 

“You shouldn't have gone out alone.” It was the Batman voice, and that instantly took down his good mood down a few notches. He should have expected as much, but he'd figured that if Bruce trusted him enough to lead a group of teenage supers, that he wouldn't care if Jason went out on his own. Apparently not, but Jason's night had been pretty good, and he wasn't about to just let Batman rain on his parade. 

Jason walked to the computer, and stood beside Bruce, looking over at him with his arms crossed. He shrugged one shoulder and shook his head. “It was slow.” This was an old argument, but one that could ruin the whole night if it went too far. “Selina, huh? Robins away the Cat will play?” Bruce didn't usually let him deflect these things with a simple subject change, but it was worth the try.

Bruce turned in the chair, and actually looked at him. He was still in his suit from the gala, but the tie had been taken off, and his hair was a mess. Likely from Selina, if Jason had to guess. The fact that he was looking at Jason, and not at the computer, was a bad sign. “You were alone without any backup.” 

Jason tried to shake it off, shifting on his feet and giving Bruce a wry half smile. “Lighten up old man, I'm not twelve anymore. I can handle myself.” 

“Jason,” Bruce wasn't always good with his words. Certainly not as good as Jason was by any means. It took a long time of being around him to figure out some of what he meant at times, and even then, it was easy to overlook. But that, that simple, almost biting utterance of his name, meant that Bruce was annoyed, angry, or even worse, upset. It was a bad sign. 

Jason shifted away from the chair as the half smile fell off his face. It was probably only a matter of time before Bruce stood up to glower down at him. “I had everything under control.” 

Bruce narrowed his eyes, and stood. Just as he'd thought.“Jason, I've told you not to go out alone. We're partners.” 

Jason huffed, trying to keep his own temper in check, but he couldn't keep the glare off his face. “What, afraid you won't need the leash anymore?” Jason took a step forward, getting right into Bruce's personal space, and pointing at his chest, where the Bat would be if he was in his suit. “You go out all the time without backup. You don't even call when I'm out of town. That's not a partnership Bruce.” It wasn't, and Jason had known it for some time. He also knew that if Bruce asked, Jason would drop everything. But Bruce didn't ask, and Bruce never called. “I'm doing what you trained me to do. Pot, kettle.” 

“I taught you better.” And with that, Bruce sat down, and looked back up at the screen. “Hit the showers, you're benched.” Just like that, as if he'd made some major mistake. Conversation over.

Not if Jason had anything to say about it. Apparently, they were going to have it out, cause Jason wasn't just going to stand there and take that. “You can't bench me, I'm 16! I lead the Teen Titans, goddamnit! I'm not some dumb kid anymore Bruce!” 

“You've never been a dumb kid, Jason. You're my son, and you're reckless.” Bruce was looking at him again, his eyes even and hard. “In my city, you follow my rules. You have never been allowed to go on patrol if someone couldn't reach you on the coms. That has not changed.”

Jason saw red. “You're city? Are you fucking kidding me? Screw you, I don't have to deal with your bullshit. You don't know how to handle anything that doesn't have a price tag or won't go away if you punch it!” The words were out of Jason's mouth before he had time to regret them, before he even knew what he was going to say. 

Bruce didn't turn to look at him, didn't even give him that courtesy, but without the cowl on he could see the tension in his temples, could read the jut of his chin in his sleep. Jason wanted to throttle the man. “This is not a discussion.” Bruce said, even and brokering no argument. “I will not have Robin running around on his own. It's dangerous.” 

“Do you even care that I was chasing down the kid you brought home as your new pet project?” Jason pointed up to the manor above them. “You can't just lock him up in this house and expect everything to work out!” 

“We are not discussing this.” Bruce stopped then, gave him a dismissive sideways look. “You should have come to me when you found him gone.” 

Jason threw up his hands at that. He closed what little distance there was between him and Bruce, and spun the chair till Bruce was facing him. “Oh, because Batman has done such a good job of dissuading him?” He leaned down, so that Bruce could could see the rage on his face, and he could could feel Bruce's breath on his skin. “You know what Dick told me? He said he was lonely, and he wanted a hug. Both things that would have been easy to deal with if you were ever around!” Jason pushed Bruce then, and straightened up, but the chair held. The damn batchair was bolted down.

“This conversation is over.” Bruce said, turning his chair towards the computer again. “Go to bed.” 

Jason stood there, fuming, before turning on his heals, and heading back to Robin's bike. “Screw you Bruce, you don't own me.” Jason yelled over his shoulder, straddling the bike and reeving it up.

“Jason!” Bruce was watching now, standing up and stalking over at an impressive speed, but it didn't matter. Jason was out of there as fast as the bike could take him, the sound of Bruce yelling his name chasing him out. 

 

-

 

To be fair, if he really didn't want Bruce to find him, he could have disappeared. It would have been easy. Hell, he could have disabled all the trackers and been on his way back to the west coast if that's what he really wanted. Batman wouldn't have chased him outside of the city. Probably. 

So it wasn't really a surprise when an hour and a half after he'd stormed out of the cave, Batman found him smoking a cigarette on top of the East End Regal Hotel, next to a familiar gargoyle. Part of him thought that Bruce would be too mad to come track him down, but he knew better. He could hurl as many horrible insults at Bruce as he wanted, and Bruce would still come after him. 

“I thought you quit.” Bruce said, probably referring to the cigarette. It was a safer way to start the conversation than most. Batman was standing behind him, while Jason had one leg bent in front of him, braced on the buildings edge, and the other dangled down towards the streets below. Even though Jason couldn't see him it wasn't hard to know that he was standing there, like a painting, with the cape curled around him like a blanket. Bruce was predictable in ways that Jason couldn't quite put into words.

“I'm 16 and rebellious.” Jason answered, and took another drag of the cigarette. He'd dreamed of smoking again, but now that he was actually doing it, the experience wasn't nearly as calming as he'd thought it would be. He was already regretting it, but he'd be damned if he let Bruce know. The nicotine did make him more mellow though, and he would completely blame it for what he said next. “Are you replacing me?” 

“No,” The answer was instantaneous, not even a hint of hesitation. “But I'm reading you the riot act when we get home.” Home, cause the apartment Jason Wayne owned wasn't quite that. He wasn't sure if the manor was either, but it was closer than any of the apartments or safe houses he had scattered around Gotham and the west coast. Gotham was probably the closest thing he had to home, outside of crime alley. Bruce paused, as Jason puffed out another cloud of rolling smoke from parted lips. “Jason, you're becoming a young man, but you'll always be my son. I will always worry.” 

Jason didn't choke, though what felt like smoke was searing him from the inside out. They weren't suppose to use names while in costume, but there it was anyway. “I learned my lesson. I'm careful these days.” 

“I'll always worry.” 

And god did he know. Jason lived for Alfred's check ins to tell him that Bruce hadn't gotten in over his head. That he wasn't missing, hurt or outnumbered. The sheer volume of horrors his nightmares could concoct was staggering. Sometimes he hacked the batcomputer and read the latest reports Bruce had filed before going to bed at night. That wasn't what he said. “I've heard the same thing a million times over the last two years, old man. Give it a rest.” 

Instead of saying anything, Batman closed the distance between them, and sat next to him on the building's edge. He reached over and plucked the cigarette right out of Jason's mouth. The protest died the moment Bruce put the cigarette between his lips, and took a deep breath in. “Cigars are better.” He said, after he'd expelled the wretched smoke from his nose. “I'll buy you some when you turn 18. Can't be an eccentric billionaire without smoking a few cigars.”

“I'm not.” Jason said instantly, before clarifying. “An eccentric billionaire. You are, I'm not.” 

Bruce looked at him evenly, and only experience told him that Bruce had raised his eyebrows at that. The cowl was good at hiding these things, but he'd been around Batman enough to know. “I could say something profound about everything the light touches, but it might be cliché.” 

God he wanted that cigarette back. If he had it in his mouth, it would be easier to resist the urge to bite his lip. “We're vigilantes, what isn't cliché?” 

Bruce didn't say anything for a while, just took another long drag on the cigarette, before stubbing it out on the side of the building and flicking it behind him. “I'm never going to replace you Jay. Never. But our little family can grow.”

Jason swallowed. “He's a good kid.” It was surprisingly easy to admit. Needy in ways that were very different from both of them, but good.

“He is.” Bruce agreed, with that soft little voice that Jason never knew what to do with.

“We're going to fuck him up all to hell.” That comment took the almost pleasant look right off of Bruce's face. He looked out at the city instead of Jason for a solid three minutes after that. 

In typical bat fashion, when Bruce did talk again, it was to change the subject. “Alfred would be disappointed to hear you swearing so much.”

“You know I'm right.” Jason said, but he knew he wouldn't chase that conversation. He hoped they were doing the right thing, but it was probably out of his hands. It's not like he lived in Gotham full time anymore anyway. Bruce would do what he wanted, like he always did.

“He needs something we can give.” There was a small part of him that swelled with pride at the use of 'we' and not 'I', but he tried to ignore that. 

They fell into silence again after that, Jason lost in his own thoughts as he pulled out another cigarette and placed it between his lips. “Will you call?” He asked, as he was looking down at his utility belt for the lighter. He lit the the cigarette, and placed the lighter on the stone beside him instead of back in his belt. He didn't look over at Batman. “Not just when you need me, but when you don't?”

Bruce's mouth was open the second Jason finished asking the question, but Bruce paused, and closed it again. Whatever he'd been about to say was lost. There was a pause, just a beat, before Batman answered. “I read all of your reports.” 

Jason breathed out, a big puff of poison that whirled around them. “That's not an answer old man.” 

“I will.” Bruce finally said. “I trust you, Jason, always have. But I can't trust Gotham,” Batman motioned with a nod of his head to the glitter and grit of the city before them, “not with you.” 

Jason placed a hand on the gargoyle beside him, and stood up then. Didn't want to let Batman see the look on his face. “You been watching Alfred's lifetime movies again?” 

“Your stash of harlequin books have been very educational.” Bruce said, without missing a beat. “Took me a while to find them.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Jason said, after choking on air for a solid minute. 

Bruce had the gall to smirk at him for that, and Jason waved him off. Jason stood there for a moment, wondering if Bruce was going to stand up and join him, but he didn't. He just kept sitting there, looking out at Gotham. In a few hours, the sun would be up, and this late, the city was mercifully quiet. 

“Thank you for going after him. You're going to make a good older brother.” 

Jason rolled his eyes, and deflected the compliment. “Right, I'll teach him how to pickpocket and smoke before he's 13.” When Batman didn't come back with a witty rebuttal, Jason huffed, and leaned against the gargoyle, tempted to trace the patterns carved into the stone. “He wants this. Told me as much.” 

“I know,” Bruce said, and it was stated so surely that Jason believed it. “Dick would be good at it.”

“Probably,” Jason conceded. 

“He'll need a name.”

Jason did not look at Batman, and did not shift on his feet. He traced the wings of the gargoyle, the patterns achingly familiar. “Dick can be Robin, when he's ready.” 

“Jay-”

“Shut up and listen to me.” Cause if Bruce derailed him, he wouldn't be able to say it, wouldn't be able to get it out. “Robin- Robin's suppose to be with Batman. They're partners. You can't replace Robin, I won't let you. If someone's working at your side, that isn't me, it had damn well better be Robin. I'm not your partner anymore. I'm more of a lieutenant than anything, and don't even pretend that wasn't intentional. You didn't send me to the west coast with anything else in mind and we both know it. This way, you've got eyes and ears on every super with a sidekick. I get it. It's smart and pragmatic, but that's not Robin. Robin's mine, and he exists to be beside Batman. I won't let you change that.” 

Bruce was looking at him then, the lenses of their masks the only obstructions, but Jason didn't dare look away. They did that for a long time, just looking at each other. “Then he'll be Robin.” Bruce said, and that was that. 

Jason nodded. “I'll come up with something before then.” 

“Work with Alfred. He'll be offended if you don't ask his opinion.” Batman stood after that, and hovered over Jason for a few moments. He'd gained a lot of height in the last few years, but Bruce was still taller than him. He wasn't sure if he liked that, but it did make him feel safe around Bruce, even if it was a stupid thought. “Let's head back Robin.” 

“Yeah,” Jason said quietly. “Okay.” 

He followed behind as Batman walked to the other side of the roof. Behind and slightly to the left. Batman glanced over his shoulder at him once, and Jason almost swore there was a smile there. “You're still benched, but now you're grounded too. Three days at home, no Titans work.” 

Jason sputtered, but Batman didn't give him time to respond, just shot off his grappling gun and jumped. Jason followed, grumbling the whole way. 

 

~


End file.
